


Brittle grass and sunscreen.

by orange_crushed



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-16
Updated: 2011-04-16
Packaged: 2017-10-18 03:31:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/184518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orange_crushed/pseuds/orange_crushed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their fire went out hours ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brittle grass and sunscreen.

They're alone on a corner of the beach. It's only five o'clock in the morning, an hour stretched thin with lack of sleep and too much watery beer, and the grey line of the ocean is pink and flushed and trembling with sun. Their fire went out hours ago. The sand is still cold against the underside of their knees.

"Kiss me," says Sirius. He's lying on his back and the sand is probably everywhere, past the elastic band of his swim trunks and crusting under his fingernails and it's anyone's guess where else. It's in his hair. A smudge of sand on his cheek. He looks like a disobedient wretch and he is. He's been smoking too close to the tall grass and Remus complained. This is his response. "Kiss me," he says again.

Remus leans down.

Sirius tastes like the bitter end of the cigarette, burnt to the filter, smoke and charcoal. His lips are cool but his mouth is warm. He opens wider and sucks on Remus's tongue. One hand slips under Remus's thin t-shirt and pulls him closer by the hipbone. "Prude," Sirius mumbles, rubbing the cotton between his thumb and forefinger. He licks Remus's bottom lip. "Come on, be naked like God intended."

"I don't want to scare the locals," Remus says, dryly, more dryly than usual for the sand in his mouth. Sirius complains and Remus hitches up his knee and lowers his hips. The complaining ends abruptly. Sirius feels delirious with the warmth of the body against his and looks up at the sky with wide, dark eyes; seagulls are wheeling overhead and the long low clouds are melting. He smells the cigarette butts from all of last night, dropped too close to his head. Tar and ash. Burnt driftwood, burnt sandwich-wrappers, burnt air. Brittle grass and sunscreen. Remus. He turns his face and buries his nose and mouth in the other boy's throat. He inhales. "You're such a dog," says Remus, gently.

"Mm," says Sirius, not quite in agreement. He feels very human at the moment, very human.


End file.
